


Frozen

by Sanalith



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanalith/pseuds/Sanalith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione tries to save a hero from himself. Written before the publication of Deathly Hallows, so AU post-HPB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen

Pulling her fur-lined cloak tightly around her shoulders in a vain attempt to keep the icy chill from freezing her to the bone, Hermione Granger stepped outside the inn and allowed the door to clang shut loudly behind her. Heavy sleet assailed her from both sides, immediately soaking her even through the warming charm she’d hastily cast moments before. England was hardly a tropical paradise, but she’d happily walk through a London drizzle every day for the rest of her life if it meant she never had to set foot in Russia during winter ever again.  
  
Of course, there was no reason for him to choose a more hospitable climate in which to reside. He seemed intent on punishing himself, after all. Or maybe he just liked the cold. He _had_ lived in dungeons for a good part of his life..  
  
It had only taken three days to locate his small residence in Moscow, but her trip had been five years in the making. While the majority of the wizarding world rejoiced over the final defeat of Lord Voldemort, a small group of “heroes” sat licking their wounds and mourning their dead at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The Golden Trio had been placed on a golden pedestal, Harry in particular being raised almost to sainthood. No one knew, or least wanted to admit, that the real hero was the one everyone had already deemed a murdering traitor. No one could see that he had sacrificed and risked more than most of the Order combined.  
  
While the world cried out for his blood, Severus Snape followed a carefully orchestrated plan that led to an “ambush” of Hogwarts…where an entire army of Order members stood waiting for them. Hermione wasn’t sure how long Snape and Minerva McGonagall had been secretly corresponding, but she’d be willing to bet it had been from almost the moment he’d fled school grounds.  
  
Once the dust settled, Snape was legally cleared of all murder and betrayal charges, thanks to carefully preserved memories from Dumbledore’s Pensieve and Veritaserum-induced testimony. But when everything was over and done, he still insisted on leaving.  
  
“We’ve already lost half a dozen professors to the war,” Minerva protested. “Now you’re going to make me replace you, too? And why? Just so you can run and hide?”  
  
Snape shrugged as though he could care less what she thought or did. “No one will want a Death Eater and a murderer instructing their children.”  
  
“But you’ve been cleared!” Hermione protested, looking up sharply. “You betrayed Voldemort. You killed Professor Dumbledore on his own orders!”  
  
Snape shook his head. “It will not matter,” he replied simply.  
  
Hermione hated that he was right. She hated the parents who wrote to McGonagall demanding Snape’s resignation. She hated Rufus Scrimgeour for getting the Ministry involved and, very politely of course, suggesting that it really would be all for the best if he stepped down. She hated Snape for going along with it all with nothing more than an arched eyebrow and a sardonic word here or there, acting as though nothing mattered. And she hated herself for not doing more to stop him.  
  
He was a hero. Why could no one see that? Why couldn’t _he_ see it?  
  
For five years she brooded over his departure. She became Potions Mistress at Hogwarts in his stead, refusing to allow anyone less qualified to take his place. She tried to convince herself that she was merely holding the position safe for him, that he would suddenly come sweeping into the classroom, robes billowing in their normal dramatic fashion, to icily demand his place back. She’d have relinquished it on the spot, gladly.  
  
But after five years she recognized her misplaced faith for what it was, and with McGonagall’s help, she traced him to Russia and impulsively set out over Christmas break.  
  
“I don’t know what you hope to accomplish,” the headmistress had grumbled, and Hermione silently agreed. She had no real plans, no set speech to deliver when she found him. She only knew it wasn’t fair that she had a comfortable job and an Order of Merlin hanging in her room while he was off encasing himself in ice and snow, dead to the world. She only knew she had to do _something_. She had to try.  
  
And that was why she found herself outside his door, soaked to the skin, completely alone in a strange country who language she did not even know, with the first real pricklings of fear touching her spine. She had no claim on him other than friendship, and of that she was more than a little doubtful. He probably still saw her as an annoying Gryffindor know-it-all, and a part of her still subconsciously feared him as the only professor she could never please.  
  
But he deserved more than this. All his life he’d been used, forced to give and give until he had nothing left, but was offered no recompense. To this day, she wondered if Dumbledore had truly known what he was asking when he made Snape promise to kill him. The fact that he’d surrounded himself in ice and snow was not lost on her.  
  
She’d probably want to freeze her heart and soul, too, if she’d been forced to murder the first person who’d ever truly believed in her.  
  
She knew she would not be welcome. She knew she had no real right to come. He deserved some peace after all he’d done. It was easier for him to be alone here, away from the accusing glances and the whispered remarks. Easier to shut himself away from the world in an icy tomb. It would be easier for her to just leave, to avoid his derisive snorts and callous remarks. Easier to let him alone.  
  
But Dumbledore once warned them that there would come a time when they would have to make a choice between what was right and what was easy, and Hermione would be damned before she allowed either of them to take the coward’s way out. Not now. Now ever.  
  
Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.  
  
Raising her fist to the heavy oak door, she knocked.


End file.
